“Bertram, Crown Prince of Altronde, wanted me to marry him morganatically. I felt outraged, though they told me it would be a legal marriage. Harry Pontycroft and Lucilla sympathised with my disgust and packed me off. And—that is why.”
The old man looked grave. “Damned European whelps,” he muttered. “No wonder your Puritan ancestors shook that dust from their souls. You did well,” he said, patting Ruth on the back.
X
Ruth went upstairs without another word. The upper hall was lined with bookshelves reaching to the ceiling. “I must add a library to this dear place,” she said to herself while she sought for a book. She was tired,—she wanted to lie down, she wanted to wash from her mind the impressions of the day; she felt completely fagged.
General Adgate came upstairs behind her while she was peering along the shelves of calf-bound books. The shelves seemed to hold only a monotonous row on row of histories and works of philosophy.
“Take this,” he said as he passed her, and, pausing, he removed a book from an upper shelf and handed it to her.
This was a volume of Governor Bradford's History of New England.
“But,” Ruth weakly objected, “I wanted a novel!”
“You'll find that more interesting than any novel,” General Adgate threw over his shoulder as he proceeded on to his own apartments.
O Reflex Egotism! Ruth found the book more interesting than any novel.